Chapter 57

As the early evening moon rose, fireworks boomed overhead to announce the start of the ball.

Aaron and Erica—who had begun their “ball” earlier than everyone else—looked beautiful as they danced.

In their own little world, they matched each step, thinking only of each other.

“How do they look?” Martin whispered.

“…Beautiful,” I answered before I realized it. I startled at my own honesty.

Martin smiled at my reaction and sat down casually.
(A duke, sitting anywhere—improper! But I, too, just wanted to watch them quietly.)

“Maybe Aaron is actually the right groom for Erica,” I thought.

Not a bad match at all—
Tall, solid build, conversation flows easily; they really might fit.
Books say shared ground matters a lot.
Their first meeting was natural, not forced.
And with his sword skills, he won’t let Erica go hungry—he seems bold enough, practical, able to make a life.

“But then… what about Oscar?”

He’s the prince—how could you just let that go?
He might be king one day.
And he did seem interested in Erica…

I, who am not even the one getting married, found myself seriously weighing bridegrooms.

Maybe my concentrated face looked funny; Martin’s faint smile sent his scent drifting over, making it hard to breathe.

We were hidden behind the hedges of the royal garden, secretly watching Erica and Aaron dance.
The flutter in my chest didn’t make sense.

“Is it the wine?”

Usually his smile just makes me smile—
not forget how to breathe.

I shook my head. Denial.
Yes, he’s my husband on paper, but we’re not a real couple.
And I’m not the real Gemma.

“So no kisses—no matter how much I might want to…”

…What?

Even thinking the word “kiss” shocked me.
But once it entered my head, it wouldn’t leave.

“Why…?”

Another trial rolled in.

“They didn’t slack on practice,” Martin murmured, admiring Erica’s line.

His profile in the moonlight—why did his cheek look so soft and pale?
Without thinking, I leaned closer… lips headed toward his cheek.

“!”

History nearly happened—but before I could touch him, fireworks crackled again, startling us both.
We toppled backward and ended up hugging.

“Goodness. If I died right now, I’d have no regrets,” I thought, and promptly blacked out.

“I almost touched him.”

I pressed my lips, remembering.
We hadn’t actually touched, but we’d been that close; my ears burned.

People learn by making mistakes…
but this was far too big a “practice mistake.” I couldn’t face Martin.

“I wish I didn’t remember,” I thought.
No, better that I do—so I can keep my dignity.

I wasn’t sure, but it seemed Martin also felt awkward about seeing me.

“Sister-in-law, did something happen with my brother?”

So Erica came to my room first thing.
Ever sharp, she sensed something odd between us.

I pulled the blanket over my head and mumbled, “I don’t know… something.”

“What something?”

“Not for minors.”

Ugh, the injustice.
If I’d succeeded, fine—
but to become a failed kisser overnight? Me?

We were spying on Erica and Aaron’s secret dance and I became a kiss-fail story.
How could I say that out loud?

Wait—didn’t you, little sister-in-law, have your own sweet time with Aaron outside the ballroom?

“And you?” I shot back.

You two had your private ball.

I threw the covers off and sat up with a mischievous grin.
Erica flinched and stepped back.

“Didn’t you have a good time?”

“Huh? How did you—”

“Heh. I know everything.”

He wasn’t the groom candidate I’d picked, but Erica had looked genuinely happy beside him.
Even if I forget other things, I’ll never forget Erica dancing with Aaron.

While I was smiling at her, Martin came up to my room.
Before he could read the situation—

“I’ll leave you two to it!”
Erica swapped places with him and hurried away.

Once her black hair vanished down the hall, I finally exhaled.

“Not eating?” Martin asked.

Oh—right. Martin.

I faked a cough and pulled the blanket over my head again, pretending to be unwell.
He wanted to check me personally.

“Aren’t we both supposed to be avoiding each other’s faces right now?”

My lips hadn’t actually touched his cheek, but just trying made me burn with shame.
Not to mention, when we fell, we ended up hugging.

He seriously looked ready to call the physician.

“That won’t do,” he said.

Don’t say it in that serious tone!
If he sees through my act, I’ll die of embarrassment.

I lowered the blanket and sat up slowly.
Martin sat on a small chair by the bed, sunlight warming his eyes.

“Are you… worried about me?”

“Yes. I’m worried about my wife.”

Why you worrying about me…

“The night air was cold, and you drank.”

The night—no! Stop!

I cleared my throat again and put on a firm face.
“If you were going to ask about last night—don’t. I don’t remember a thing.”

“I distinctly warned you about the cold. That sounds very much like you remember.”

“N-no I don’t.”

He turned his head, clearly thrown off by last night too.

“Then… what will you do about breakfast?” he asked, scratching his cheek.

“I don’t have an appetite.”

I absolutely did not plan to eat together today.

“Your stomach disagrees,” he said.

Right on cue, mine growled loudly.

Martin called Mary in from the hall.
“We’ll take breakfast here.”

Mary smiled and bowed—she’d be back with food soon.

Wait—in my room? Breakfast?

My eyes went wide. Martin crossed his legs, smiling lightly.

“Why are you surprised?”

“Because…”

“I heard my wife wasn’t feeling well.”

Ah. I said that.

I gave a sheepish smile. “It’s embarrassing in front of the staff.”

Hadn’t Mary smiled? She’d probably tease me while dressing me later.

“It’s not unusual for a married couple to dine in the same room.”

How can he say that with a straight face?

“Is this the Martin I knew?”

Ignoring my look, he pulled a chair out at the table, inviting me to sit.
I rose as if hypnotized and took the seat.

“There’s a couples’ gathering coming up,” he said.

Cough—A couples’ event?

Martin and Gemma had often skipped those.
Showing up together signals the house is solid, but Cloud rarely did—
which only fueled rumors their marriage was bad. (Which, to be fair, wasn’t entirely wrong.)

Martin smiled lazily. “Shall we go together?”

It sounded like an offer, not pressure.
If I’m uncomfortable, we won’t go?

I tilted my head. Maybe I looked unsure, because he grinned and said, firm now:

“If you’re fine with it…”

“?”

“I definitely want to go.”

Maybe because we’ve never attended one together.
His eyes sparkled as he waited for my answer.

Like a puppy waiting for its master’s word—it made me want to tease him a bit.

“Well… let’s see how you behave,” I said.

His eyebrow shot up—then smoothed as he seized on the tiny chance in my words.
Calm turned to bright expectation.

In my imagination, an invisible tail was wagging hard behind him.
The mental image peeked over his shoulder and I burst into laughter.

“You really want to go, huh?”